


Fitful Recharge

by agatharights



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bedwetting, Bondage, Dream Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Watersports, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agatharights/pseuds/agatharights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime is having dreams. Dreams that confuse and horrify him, particularly when Megatron starts appearing in them.</p><p>If you've read the lastest ex-RiD, you can pretty solidly see where this is coming from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitful Recharge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceliquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceliquid/gifts).



They'd started as...nightmares, for lack of a better term. Fitful, uneasy recharge cycles spent flicking back online with shouts and stuttered ventilations, dreams of fire and war and...victory. Maybe that was the worst part- he could have understood dreams of failure, of earth burning before his eyes as he failed to stop Galvatron, or dreams of the Decepticons surging back to full power, like never before.

 

It would have settled him to fear failure.

 

Instead, the dreams repeated themselves with striking regularity, at least, in the way they started. He stood before a crowd of cybertronians, indistinct and stained with pink and red, none he recognized, no faces he could focus on, but their dentae exposed in wide grins and eyes bright, burning with anticipation as they looked up at him, roared his name in support and screamed-

 

** ALL HAIL OPTIMUS **

 

** ALL HAIL OPTIMUS **

 

He woke up, often times, then, pulled from recharge in panic, at first. It wasnt long before he would sleep through even the crowd's frantic chanting. Sometimes he gestured to them, or spoke- speeches filled with darkness and praise that he tried to forget as soon as he woke, lest they come tumbling out of his mouth. One particular night he dreamt he stood on the stage, his pede on a defeated Galvatron's body, before he picked up the broken warlord and threw him into the rabid followers before him, laughing.

 

He wondered where, exactly, his subconcious supplied the sound of a mech being torn apart from.

 

Exhaustion was potent, though, and the nightmares became longer, and longer, and more elaborate, always starting with the howling crowd and him standing before them, and in this particular dream he turned his back to them, and walked back towards the throne. The throne was there, sometimes, a twisted thing of metal, strangely aestheticaly pleasing for being so...intimidating, but this time...this first time, there had been an addition to it. Kneeling at it's side was a familiar form, waiting for him, silver and gray shined to a perfect finish, expression...almost proud, a slight smirk.

 

The smugness on Megatron's faceplates infuriated him, in the dream, and he didn't know why, reaching and grasping the kneeling mech's chin, tilting it up to him with a low growl. Megatron didn't resist the motion at all, but the movement drew Optimus' attention to the heavy chains, bolted into Megatron's very armor, keeping him leashed to the throne. His grip on Megatron's jaw increased, slowly, and he knew that something- something dark in him was ready, feeling himself smile.

 

He woke, from that one, and clutched at the sides of his berth until his ventilations slowed. The panic didn't bother him, no, what bothered him was the heat in his chassis, steaming off his plating. He was thankful that, at least this time, he hadn't shouted, if Aileron had seen him...well, he didn't want to try to explain that, staring down at where his spike panel was open, connector pressurized and dribbling prefluid, biolights pulsing brilliant blue. He didn't even remember arousal in the dream, but his frame apparently had been ready, and he shuddered as he forced himself to depressurize and locked his plating, cringing at the discomfort.

 

He spent the first several hours of the day aroused to the point of near-painfulness, and as his own off-cycle apporached so did a slow boil of alarm. All too quickly, he was looking at his berth, servos clenched into tight fists, willing himself to lay down. He had faced war, death, all manner of violence and horror. Right now, he was...scared to let himself slip offline. He could have kept operating, he knew- any cybertronian could put off recharge, he'd fought for days, weeks straight without rest before, but times were different. He didn't want that foggy haze of instinct that came with exhaustion.

 

It took time, but he lay back and plugged into the berth, feeling his energy levels stabilize and start rising, and shuttered his optics with a deep invent.

 

He lost conciousness quickly, darkness sweeping in, and then he was back. Back before the crowd, a haze of fire and smoke in the distance, a metallic smell to the air- the smell of burning. **ALL HAIL OPTIMUS! ALL HAIL OPTIMUS!** The crowd screeched and clamored to be close to the stage, and with sweeping grace he waved to them, turning and pacing to his throne.

 

Megatron was there, again, kneeling, his hands resting upon his thighs, looking almost serene- too clean, too still compared to the dirtiness of everything else in the dream. Optimus had never noticed, before- it was like everything else had a thin film to it, soot and grime, rust.

 

"Megatron." He rumbled, and the former warlord's eyes rose up to meet him, burning bright. That same smug smile was on his face, infuriating. Like he knew, he knew this was going to happen. As if he knew that Optimus would have fallen, would have been reduced to....to this. Optimus dimly recalled a piece of...it couldn't even be called propaganda, during the war- it was illicit material both sides traded in, scandelous tales about how depraved the others were. He'd caught some young soldier passing it around on a datapad and confiscated it.

 

Funny, to think of it now. In the story it'd been Starscream tied up at Megatron's throne. He'd read it, and then handed it off to Ironhide to dispose of, although knowing Ironhide it probably wound up right back in the hands of whatever Autobots were looking for something to distract them.

 

He grasped Megatron's chin gingerly, gently, and bent down until their forhelms touched.

 

"... _Mine_." He growled, deeply, his own voice resonant inside his dream. Megatron's smile widened, eyes narrowed...he didn't like that victorious edge to Megatron's expression, grip on his chin tigtening, jerking his head up sharply. Megatron winced, but kept smiling, optics flicking to look behind Optimus, beyond him. "Look at me. Only me." He sharply reprimanded, straightening up and jerking Megatron's head as he did so, forcing it back to expose the tubing of his throat.

 

Megatron grinned, watching Optimus intently, and Optimus felt the crowd's eyes on his back, still shouting. They were celebrating, he could hear triumphant snatches of singing and gleeful laughter. One hand still on Megatron's chin, the other came to rest on his abdomen, and he could feel the thrumming of his own internal engines, the heat radiating off of him. His hand slid lower, until it was over his spike paneling. The soft click of his panel opening was too loud, too sharp, and his spike pressurized quickly, bobbing in front of Megatron's face.

 

"Tell me you're proud of what I've acheived, Megatron." He growled, giving his spike a slow stroke. Megatron said nothing, but grinned, dentae sharp and shining white, optics glancing down to focus on Optimus' spike. " _Tell me_!" Sharper, releasing his grip on Megatron's chin and instead grasping his helm by the angled crest of it, pulling him closer, sighing as the tip of his connector smeared prefluid against his cheek.

 

"...I thought you hated when I lied." Megatron's voice was a damn purr, and it make Optimus run hot and angry, his cooling fans kicking into a high gear with a screech. He wanted so much, then. To strike Megatron, to kick him to the ground, the temptation was howling in his mind...but he didn't. Instead he kept Megatron's head tilted back, and leaned him fowards. Megatron moved with practiced ease, without pause, obediant in body if nothing else.

 

"Open your mouth." He ordered, stepping fowards, stance wide until his pedes rested on either side of Megatron's legs, pushing Megatron's head down, his spike bumping against his nasal ridge, then the ridge of his helmet, until Optimus was straddling his jaw, feeling Megatron's mouth open, hot ventilations against his valve covering and a wet, disobediant flick of Megatron's tongue sending a thrill through him. "Don't swallow."

 

He valve cover folded partially away, just enough to expose his bypass valve, and Megatron's tongue flicked out to tease the small, hidden hose's lip. Even with valve and spike exposed, normally it would have rested, hidden, shifted further up into the body, and the touch of Megatron's relatively cool glossa against the metal kept at Optimus' blistering internal temperature sent a shudder through him. "Stop that- I didn't ask for your glossa." He growled, and he could feel the chuckle Megatron muffled, shaking his body, even if he couldn't hear it.

 

He released his spike, grasping Megatron's helm in both hands as he invented deeply- before relaxing with a low, rumbling moan, waste tank starting to empty into Megatron's mouth. Megatron was quiet, but shifted between Optimus' legs, reaching up with creaking effort and bringing his hands to Optimus' knees.

 

Optimus's cooling fans were deafeningly loud, the roar of his own engine making his plating buzz, and still he could hear the crowd behind him, hollaring and whooping lustfully. He could just about imagine what they could see, from between Optimus' legs, wondering if Megatron's mouth had overflowed yet, moaning again as his internal systems pinged him that his waste tank was empty, and he shifted back, not realizing he'd shuttered his optics.

 

Megatron gazed up at him, head still tilted back, the darker mix of inert energon and oils barely glowing in his mouth, streaking that pale gray face where it dribbled over his lips, leaving trails down his jaw, over his chin, dark lines of waste tracing down the flat plane of his chest, striking against the cleanliness of his armor. There was still a smile gracing the corners of his lips, stretched but there, and his eyes were brighter, washed out with charge.

 

Optimus's facemask slid away, and he bore his teeth at Megatron, grimacing and angry as he adjusted his grip on that silver helm and pulled Megatron up, to his feet, taking great pleasure in the abrupt motion spilling the contents of Megatron's mouth, pouring down his front, startling him into a choked sound. Megatron couldn't stand completely upright, and Optimus could see how the bolted chains were straining where they'd been attached to Megatron's armor, pulled straight. He pulled Megatron, roughly, listening to the sharp cry the warlord gave.

 

"Tell me you're proud of me!" Optimus snarled, bending over Megatron, their chassis pressed flush together. "Look at all I've accomplished, Megatron!" His spike ached, trapped between their abdomens, hot and leaking and the pressure was maddening. He cupped Megatron's face, and Megatron laughed, lips still dirtied and eyes still filed with that maddening delight and confidence.

 

"I am, old friend. I'm looking right at you."

 

Optimus kissed him, feircely, with such force that his dentae stung where they clicked against Megatron's, biting at his lips and mouthing desperately. Megatron's mouth was hot, and willing, biting back at his own lips, glossa pressing into his mouth posessively, and he pressed into the kiss. Megatron tasted like his own waste, sharp and bitter, and Optimus loved it, reveling in Megatron's moans and groping at his sides.

 

He pushed Megatron away, by the shoulders, and turned him roughly, throwing him down over the arm of the throne, admiring for a long moment the planes of Megatron's back, clean and broad. He splayed his hands over Megatron's back, pushing him down when he tried to rise, before sliding them back to Megatron's aft, palming it. "Open for me." He snarled, and his spike throbbed when Megatron squirmed playfully. "I said open! Or do you want me to have it removed, instead!?

 

Megatron's panel snapped open, and Optimus stared down at his exposed valve, so wet that the act of opening his panel left long streaks of lubricant down his thighs. Megatron's biolights were pulsing, brilliantly, and Optimus spared no time shifting, reaching down to press the head of his spike against that slippery port. "Mine." He growled, and bucked his hips forwards, seating himself entirely inside Megatron with one fast, brutal motion. Megatron howled, and-

 

"Ahuh!" Optimus jerked as he woke, violently enough that he almost tumbled from the berth while blindly groping. He muffled the cry in his vocalizer and sat, on the edge of the recharge slab, still plugged in, shaking so bad his plating was clattering. He was still broiling hot, steam puffing out of him with every ventilation, spike exposed and twitching, and he watched the door, horrified for a long minute that someone was going to come in and see him like this.

 

No-one came, and he slouched, relieved slightly, before realizing that his aft was sitting in a cooling puddle of..waste fluid. With a groan and a shudder, he stood and forced himself to depressurize, staring at the messed berth before digging in his subspace, pulling out every cleaning cloth he could find, getting to the task of cleaning up.

 

Nobody else needed to know about this, he decided, mortified at the loss of control in his own body, in his own dreams.


End file.
